


Pavlova in July

by Marbled Wings (LynxRyder)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And Aziraphale's done waiting, Crowley's asleep, July at last, M/M, Phone Calls, Reunion, awkward but brave conversation, awkward but brave hugs, cake and wine, cooking as a coping mechanism, post Good Omens: Lockdown, reasons to be grateful, references to the covid19 pandemic, social bubbles, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynxRyder/pseuds/Marbled%20Wings
Summary: It was definitely July, it was mid-morning by any reasonable definition, and Crowley must have known that Aziraphale would be eager to speak to him. He had been waiting ever so patiently but really, enough was enough.Aziraphale has been waiting months for Crowley to wake from his lockdown induced nap. Time to pick up where they left off and hopefully move things forwards just the tiniest bit.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Pavlova in July

**Author's Note:**

> Happy July 😊

_‘I’m setting the alarm clock for July. Goodnight, angel.’_

_1 st July_

_12.01am_

‘Hey, it's Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.' 

Aziraphale resisted the sudden temptation to swear. He’d always hated that infernal machine, hated the way his heart jumped in pleasurable anticipation at the sound of Crowley’s voice only to plunge the instant he realised it was merely a recording. The palest imitation. 

Placing the phone down, Aziraphale swallowed the predictable disappointment. He hadn’t really expected Crowley to set his alarm clock for just after midnight and greet the new month with him. Alright, maybe he had, just a bit.

Aziraphale stared at the phone, as silent and dusty as the rest of the bookshop, and sighed.

He’d have to try again later.

_1 st July _

_9.36am_

Aziraphale had fortified himself with two cups of tea, four crumpets and a generous slice of bakewell tart and was just beginning to feel up to the task of calling Crowley again.

The cake situation in the bookshop had long since passed the point of being out of control. There were tins of various shapes and sizes on every surface of the back room with more containers encroaching out into the shop itself. The fridge housed anything cream based including the strawberry tart with its crème patissiere that he’d made the previous day. He rather thought Crowley would be impressed with his pastry if he could but be persuaded to try some.

It was with this precise invitation in mind that Aziraphale walked over to the phone. He took his time to get comfortable in the conveniently situated chair first while fastidiously ignoring the butterflies that were presently gathering uninvited in the region of his stomach.

Aziraphale took his time to dial, time enough to envision the outcome he so desired and weigh up the chances of it becoming reality. It was definitely July, it was mid-morning by any reasonable definition, and Crowley must have known that Aziraphale would be eager to speak to him. He had been waiting ever so patiently but really, enough was enough.

‘Hey, it's Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.' 

‘Crowley!’

His shout came before the beep and so would never be heard. Aziraphale slammed the phone down so hard that something inside it broke, hastily repairing itself before anyone was any the wiser.

This time he should certainly have left a message but he was glad he had not. Aziraphale had no desire for the first words Crowley heard from him in months to be words of anger.

He could not deny the emotion itself, however, so Aziraphale proceeded to do what he had been doing for months now, channelling his feelings into the creation of something scrumptious. In this case, a truly sensational raspberry pavlova which required much cathartic whipping of cream. He admired the finished result for a while as he polished off the leftover cream from the mixing bowl.

Crowley had never once admitted it aloud but his taste, on the rare occasion he ate anything at all, ran to the over sweet and Aziraphale’s latest creation certainly catered to that particular palate to perfection.

What a coincidence.

_1 st July _

_2:33pm_

Aziraphale’s expectations for his third and final phone call attempt of the day were exceedingly low. He should have asked Crowley for clarity, specifying a month alone really had been hopelessly vague. Would it have been so difficult to give him the date and time as well? Aziraphale would leave a message this time, at least. He was determined to do that much.

‘Hey, it's Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style.' 

‘Ahem. Ah, yes, hello. It’s, well, it’s me. I was rather hoping you’d be awake. It’s July, you see, and you did say that’s when you’d be setting your alarm, although I realise now that you failed to specify a date so perhaps I am a little premature. I do hope you’ll call me back whenever you do decide to…’

‘’lo?’

‘Crowley?’

‘That’s me.’

‘Crowley! Oh, I…did I wake you?’

‘Seems as if that was your aim. I have a perfectly good alarm, you know. Very loud. Goes off when I want it to and everything.’

‘Yes, well...’

‘Got a reason for disturbing me? Make it a good one, angel. And for the love of Someone, tell me that all this lockdown business is over.’

‘Not exactly but there have been some improvements lately. Restaurants will be able to open in a few days.’

‘They’ve been shut all this time? And you’ve not intervened? Not sure whether to be impressed or concerned here.’

‘And households can join together now. Bubbles, they’re calling it. Actually that was my reason for calling. If you happen to be in the mood for company, we could bubble together.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Oh, never mind. If you’d rather not, I quite understand.’

‘Wait. Are you saying I can come over?’

‘I think I made that quite clear.’

‘Did you? Was that while I was still asleep? Haven’t checked my messages.’

‘There’s no need to be snippy, I merely…’

‘When?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘When can I come over?’

Crowley’s obvious impatience banished any lingering doubts as to how welcome Aziraphale’s intrusion had been.

‘Any time, my dear. I haven’t seen anyone else so it would be quite within the rules. I’ve made…’

The dead line tone cut him off forcing Aziraphale to swallow the word pavlova. It was not as sweet as he might have hoped. He stared forlornly at the receiver for a full minute before replacing it carefully back on its cradle.

‘Right then,’ he said aloud to the nearest pile of books.

He considered calling back, wondered whether Crowley was in fact waiting for him to prove that he was willing to persist. Perhaps he should have apologised. The last time they had spoken Crowley had expressed a very direct wish to join him and Aziraphale had refused for no better reason than it was against the law, the breaking of which would have precisely zero consequences for either of them. Only that hadn’t been the reason, and they’d both known it.

No doubt Crowley was sick and tired of Aziraphale putting up barriers, saying no, stepping away when there was no good reason for doing so, not anymore.

Aziraphale twisted his pinkie ring around his finger. The truth was he was sick and tired of it himself.

Still, however exasperated he was, it was most unusual for Crowley to cut him off in such a way.

Aziraphale had wandered into the back room to peer sadly into tins and was just wondering whether a slice a Victoria sponge would do anything to take the edge off his present despondency when he heard a familiar rumbling growl. He straightened up, turning towards the sound of an engine coming closer at a truly inhuman speed before cutting off abruptly right outside.

He was hurrying towards the locked front door of the shop when it swung open and Crowley walked straight through.

And oh, the sight of him after three whole months. The sharp lines of him, the shielded eyes, his hair (longer now and half up, half down in that way that made Aziraphale feel strangely weak), his boots, all that black, all that red.

Aziraphale did not think, he was simply moving forwards and before either of them had time to prepare themselves, he had his arms wrapped around Crowley and was hugging him as hard as he dared.

Hugging had never been a common thing between them, in fact they had never in all their long history together embraced in such a prolonged and intimate way. For a moment or two, overwhelmed by sensation, Aziraphale was quite lost to understand why. He would never have put it in such a way to Crowley himself but being this close, holding him, breathing him in was nothing short of divine.

‘Angel, what the…?’

Crowley’s voice was strained alerting Aziraphale to the fact that his whole body was stiff, his arms pinned and motionless by his side. Unable to return the embrace or extricate himself, there was no way to know which he would have chosen should the opportunity have been available.

Mortified by his presumption, Aziraphale sprang back.

‘I’m dreadfully sorry, don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t mean to…’

‘Didn’t mean to?’

Crowley was standing terrifying still, a single muscle twitching in his jaw. Aziraphale wished he could see his eyes but was simultaneously intensely grateful that he could not. Nor did he wish to know the precise reason behind Crowley’s evident shock. Not brave enough to confront any of the unspoken questions between them, Aziraphale did what he so often did when faced with extreme discomfort, he turned away from it and into the familiar.

‘I hadn’t realised you were on your way over. You’re welcome, of course. Come through, won’t you? May I offer you tea? Coffee?’ 

‘Wine?’ Crowley supplied, the predictability immeasurably comforting.

The familiar routine of debating vintages soothed away some of Aziraphale’s residual anxiety. After they moved through to the back room, once Crowley discarded his glasses and threw himself down onto the sofa, glass in hand, things started to feel positively normal.

‘So,’ said Crowley, his wine balanced at an improbably impractical angle to match his sprawling limbs, ‘What did I miss?’

Aziraphale launched into a comprehensive overview of the last few months ranging from the government’s lacklustre response to the pandemic through to observations he had made during his vigils at the shop window.

‘I haven’t been out, of course. Other than a few short forays to the local shop for essentials.’

Crowley quirked an eyebrow but chose not to mention that nothing Aziraphale might have purchased was in any way essential which, all things considered, was rather good of him.

‘There’s a palpable sense of relief now that things are starting to change,’ Aziraphale went on, ‘Lots more people are out and about. I was even considering opening the shop but I decided that can probably wait a few more weeks at least. For the safety of all, of course.’

‘Oh yes, safety first,’ said Crowley with the merest hint of a smirk.

‘Quite,’ said Aziraphale, ‘Honestly, Crowley, you’d have thought I would have got used to the world changing around us but…’

Aziraphale swirled the wine in his glass for a moment, thinking.

‘Seeing Soho so empty, watching friends stay at a two metre distance, seeing people suddenly so afraid of one another. There’s so much suffering, Crowley. So much loneliness. Humans are not made to be alone.’

Crowley’s spine straightened, a rare enough event in the context of their bookshop drinking routine that Aziraphale felt his skin prickling.

‘So that’s why you…?’ Crowley made a flicking motion with one hand between the pair of them. ‘All that emotion having an effect on you?’

He did not look to Aziraphale for confirmation but slumped back on the sofa, downing the rest of his wine.

Aziraphale studied him for a moment and then decided that further explanation was required.

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

Crowley’s eyes darted up to meet his and then away again but not before Aziraphale had glimpsed the raw hurt deep within.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Crowley said, affecting a bored tone that did not fool Aziraphale for a second, ‘Go on then, tell me more about this new normal I’m going to have to get used to.’

It was, Aziraphale thought, as good an opening as he was likely to get. They had been moving towards a new normal of their own before lockdown had been imposed or at least Aziraphale had been under that impression. It was his fault there had been a pause and so it was only right that he be the one to try and remedy the situation.

Even so, it was surprisingly difficult to get himself to move, especially with Crowley staring at him with such unblinking intensity. However, move he did until he was sitting down beside Crowley who hastily shuffled up to make space for him on the sofa.

Sitting beside Crowley was not as comfortable as Aziraphale might have hoped though that might have had something to do with the way his stomach was trying to tie itself in knots. He tried ordering his vaguely human internal organs to behave but they stubbornly ignored him, roiling even more just to spite him.

He took a deep breath, patted his thighs, wiggled a bit and then said, ‘I’ve missed you, Crowley.’

‘Missed you too, angel.’

Aziraphale glanced at him and then back down at his hands. He appreciated Crowley leaping straight in to reassure him but it wasn’t enough, not any more.

‘I’m afraid I find that quite hard to believe,’ he said, trying not to sound accusatory, ‘After all, you were asleep.’

‘Yesss,’ said Crowley, ‘Wasn’t my first solution to the boredom of lockdown, if you recall.’

‘You couldn’t have come over, it was against the rules!’

‘Rules that don’t apply to us. Rules that you arbitrarily decided to live by in order to…to…’

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, wholly unprepared for the upsetting sight of him struggling to mask what was a terribly vulnerable expression.

‘Crowley?’

‘Don’t. Just don’t, alright?’

Crowley rubbed his face with one hand, when he lowered it he had successfully calmed his features into quiet acceptance. 

‘Before all this, I was here a lot. Too much, I’m guessing. So you don’t need to explain or apologise or anything like that. You needed some space, I get it. Should be able to go a few months without seeing each other, right? We’ve done decades before, centuries. Should be easy. I shouldn’t be so…’

Crowley trailed off, unwilling or unable to put a name to what he believed he was. He cast around the room for inspiration and then winced.

‘You did invite me here today though, right? I didn’t just dream that?’

Aziraphale wished he were able to reach over and take Crowley’s hand, wished he could make himself do what so many humans wished they could do with their loved ones right at that moment. It should have been so easy.

‘You were most definitely invited, my dear.’

Crowley gave him a slightly uncertain look and once again Aziraphale found himself desperate to close the gap between them. Before the silence could solidify into anything more morose, Aziraphale suddenly remembered what had occupied most of his morning. Glad of the distraction he leapt to his feet. 

‘I almost forgot the pavlova! Oh Crowley, I’m dying for you to try it. I really do think I have mastered the art of meringue.’

And so they ate, and drank, and finally began to laugh, and everything was exactly as Aziraphale hoped it would be. And if Crowley’s smile was a little sadder than usual, his quips lacking their usual snap, it was nothing to be overly concerned about. He’d just woken from a long nap, after all, to a world that was still fully in the grip of a global pandemic. These things were bound to have an effect.

And if Crowley announced that he was leaving before the afternoon could truly call itself evening then Aziraphale would simply have to master any subsequent regret. Crowley was awake now, after all. They could do all manner of things. There was no need to wish for it all at once. 

‘Perhaps we might meet for a walk tomorrow?’ Aziraphale suggested, ‘It’s been such a long time since I fed the ducks. You never know, there might even be ducklings.’

‘Tomorrow?’

Crowley had just pushed his glasses into place, his expression giving very little away.

‘Doesn’t have to be tomorrow, although the forecast is rather favourable. Supposed to rain over the weekend so maybe Friday instead?’

‘Friday,’ Crowley repeated, ‘You’re sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Aziraphale laughed, feeling a little tipsier than he had previously realised now that he was standing, ‘We’re in the same bubble now, we can see each other whenever we like!’

The corner of Crowley's mouth lifted ever so slightly. 

‘Same bubble, huh?’

‘That’s right,’ said Aziraphale, beaming, ‘Two households united.’

Crowley had gone very still again. It almost seemed like he was waiting for something but Aziraphale was not sure what else there was to say.

‘Cheerio then,’ he said, hoping to break Crowley out of his trance-like state.

‘Right,’ said Crowley, without moving, ‘Yeah, I’d better…’

And then, without warning, Crowley was launching himself at Aziraphale, wrapping him in a hug so tight that all the breath left Aziraphale in a rush.

‘Oh!’

Crowley immediately pulled back but Aziraphale was too quick for him, his arms rising to stop Crowley from retreating.

‘It’s allowed,’ he whispered, low and urgent.

Aziraphale did not know whether he was talking to Crowley or to his own fear so he said it again, made sure they both heard him.

‘We’re allowed now, it’s okay.’

Crowley made an inarticulate sound and tightened his grip still further. It should have been uncomfortable, would have been if Aziraphale had not remembered that he did not strictly speaking need to breathe.

‘It’s okay,’ Aziraphale repeated, relaxing a little more with each repetition, ‘It’s okay now.’

When they broke apart they both feigned rather urgent reasons to turn away from each other, Aziraphale blinking rather rapidly, Crowley reaching up to adjust his glasses.

‘A walk on Friday then,’ said Crowley, ‘Lunch after?’

‘Looking forward to it, my dear.’

Crowley’s smile, brief though it was, could have powered London for the entire week with energy to spare.

Aziraphale watched as the Bentley sped away at its customary ridiculous speed. He stayed by the window for a long time, watching people hurrying by in their masks. But there was more to see than just hurrying today. There was a young child holding his mother’s hand, school uniform dirtied from an afternoon playing with his friends, his stream of excited chatter making everyone around him smile. Two older women recognised each other from across the street, waving madly, excitement all over their faces as one crossed the road, standing apart so they could talk safely to one another. While a short distance from them, a delivery driver stepped out of his van holding a huge bouquet of flowers, placing it down on a doorstep before ringing the bell for some lucky recipient. 

Little kindnesses, little acts of fellowship reaching out across the divide. Little steps towards an unknown future.

There were still the same number of reasons to feel gloomy about the state of the world as there had been twenty four hours ago but now that Crowley was awake it seemed much, much easier to also find the reasons to be hopeful. Perhaps, Aziraphale thought, he would send flowers to Crowley, ring him up and listen to the resulting tirade against improper rose cultivation.

Not that he needed an excuse, he could ring Crowley any time now. Flowers would be nice though, they'd mean something. As did their plan to see each other again on Friday and until then Aziraphale had sole possession of a customer-free shop, a great deal of leftover pavlova and the memory of how Crowley felt in his arms to tide him over. 

It might have been an exceedingly trying year to date but from the evidence thus far Aziraphale strongly suspected that he was going to be really rather fond of July.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @marbledwings on tumblr if you want to find me.


End file.
